No Space For Air
by tromana
Summary: Jane - battling with his moral compass. Lisbon - trying to pull him out of this funk. Set between 2x23 and 3x01. Jane/Lisbon.
1. Chapter 1

****A/N: ****Just a quick note to say that this update takes me over 800,000 words archived. Feel like celebrating with me?

x tromana

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><p><strong><strong>Title: <strong>**No Space For Air  
><strong>Author: <strong>tromana**  
><strong><strong>Rating: <strong>****T**  
><strong>Characters:<strong>** Jane/Lisbon****  
><strong>Summary: <strong>****Jane - battling with his moral compass. Lisbon - trying to pull him out of this funk. Like you do. Set between 2x23 and 3x01******  
><strong>Notes: <strong>******This is one of my Angst Big Bang rejects. The one I am doing won't be posted til March. A huge thank you to lil smiles and Miss Peg for helping me to make a decision as to which one to submit for Big Bang and which one to post now. Also to ch19777, whose prompt from the Paint It Red ficathon I am using, despite it being long over.

**No Space For Air**

_"The weak are cruel. The strong have no need to be." — Alice Hoffman_

**Part One**

He knows what he's doing.

It's intentional. Why else would he do it? Everything that Patrick Jane does is exceptionally well thought out, meticulous to the finest degree. It may not look it to the untrained - or blinkered - eye, but it is. It needs to be, because otherwise, everything he does would end in disaster. With his skills, he needs to know when to hold back, when to reveal little tidbits and when to keep the hell away.

This is one of those moments. He's been on a rough learning curve, if you will. Then again, most people seem to learn from their mistakes and clearly, he is not one of those people. For he makes them time and time again, almost as if it's some kind of compulsion, or he has a block on not learning specific character traits. Or maybe, just maybe, he's a masochist and he likes getting hurt. Even if the pain is at the expense of other people as well.

Look at Kristina. Or rather, you can't. Because nobody knows where the hell she is, least of all Jane himself. He hates it because he knows he should have seen it coming, but he didn't. Should have known that if he started trying to extend his friendship circle beyond the CBI, that something bad would happen to them.

Kristina's disappearance is his fault entirely. Patrick Jane is more than willing to shoulder the blame for that one.

It's because he misjudged Red John, thought that he wouldn't find out. Or rather, that he wouldn't care at all. Why would he? Red John has already taken away the people who really matter to him. Kristina is, was, just intriguing. He wanted to get to know her better, to find out if her conviction that she was actually a psychic was grounded on something or just pure fallacy. And even he would be a fool to deny that she was an attractive woman.

Then again, a lot of attractive women practically throw themselves at his feet. Especially so when they discover that he's a widower. There's something about the tragedy that makes the majority of women go weak at their knees. Naturally, it isn't something he quite understands; who the hell would want to inherit the broken pieces of a man, without the guarantee that they would actually be able to 'fix' them. If the man wanted fixing at all, of course. Some of them don't.

_He_ doesn't. Not yet, anyway. Not until he's dealt with his self-assigned task. But that goal seems like it's further away than ever before.

That's what he likes about Lisbon. She's simple, uncomplicated, just looking to do her job to the very best of her ability. She doesn't actively try and fix him and when she does, it's for the _right _reasons. It isn't because she looks at him like a potential life partner, it's because she _cares_. Out of all the senior agents in the CBI, she had been the only one willing to take a chance on him. Everyone else had thought him too risky, too dangerous, but she could see the use.

She only actively tries to help him when he asks for it.

Or rather, that's how it used to be, when they first met. She had understood the boundaries, that he was a fragile soul, back then. That he would step over certain lines and make a mess on occasion. After all, the only reason he volunteered his services to the CBI was in order to get closer to the Red John case. Everything else is just a bonus, for them. And it keeps him occupied when nothing is happening.

However, things have changed. Over a year ago now, he saved her life. Of course, she has saved his on countless occasions (and continues to do so), but that's always been in the line of duty. For him, it's something new, something different. Not in the job description. All he's hired to do is to make observations, point the authorities in the right direction. But he hadn't even thought when he'd shot Dumar Hardy. All he had wanted to do was save her.

Why? Because she means something.

Not that he'd realized at the time.

But that simple action has been a catalyst. It's thrown them closer, closer than he could ever have imagined being to another person, since Angela. He'd believed himself to be a mighty fortress, a stone wall, impenetrable to human emotion after his wife's death. Especially considering the circumstances. Taunting Red John was like teasing a caged lion and the consequences had a sense of inevitability. Then again, they say that hindsight is always twenty-twenty. He'd been too arrogant, back then.

He's still too arrogant now.

Besides, he genuinely likes Lisbon. Not that she'd believe it if you told her. But still, he does. More than he'd probably like to let on.

More than he likes, full stop.

Because it's dangerous. Dangerous for him to like somebody. Bad things happen to them.

He's bad luck, negative karma. However the hell you want to phrase it. He should have known not to throw Kristina into the line of fire, but because he hadn't realized that their relationship could have been perceived as more than it _was_, he had.

And now, she's gone. Probably dead, knowing Red John as well as he does.

So, he needs to push Lisbon away, for her own safety and sanity. The rest of the team too. Otherwise, Red John might just start getting ideas. Might just realize that they are more than just colleagues to him. That they're friends, a substitute family, of sorts. They've slowly but surely wormed their way into his heart, not replacing the family his lost, but adding to it. Extending it. Filling the niche that was otherwise absent.

And he likes it. It makes him feel better. Wanted, needed. Loved, even, in a strange way.

He hasn't felt this complete in a long while. Now, now he and Red John have looked face to face, or rather, would have if it hadn't been for that ludicrous mask, they are closer than ever before.

Red John saved his life.

Not Cho. Not Rigsby or Van Pelt. Not even Lisbon.

Red John.

And as a consequence, the serial killer probably understands him better than ever before. It's only a matter of time until he starts targeting those he's grown to care about, much to his irritation.

After all, Jane owes Red John. They say that happens, when somebody saves a life. That you're indebted to them.

However, Red John nearly destroyed him once. Does that mean they've called it quits? That they're back to square one, all things are equal once more?

Jane rubs his temples, irritated. Whatever the meaning, he doesn't like this. At all.

xxx

There's a knife near him.

It's getting slowly getting closer, inching painfully towards his neck. He knows what it's like to be cut, to feel the skin splitting and pearls of blood rushing towards the surface.

He also knows that if it nicks the wrong type of blood vessel, it's fatal.

And the person wielding this particular blade has every intention of going for an artery.

Jane struggles, but cannot pull his arms free. The chair tilts slightly, thanks to his increasingly erratic movements and eventually, comes crashing down to earth. He winces as his right arm makes contact with the ground; if he survives this, he's going to end up with a bruise.

But he's not. He can tell he isn't.

Automatically, he closes his eyes, scrunching them up as tightly as possible. He doesn't want to see the knife as it makes the connection with his skin, doesn't want to lock eyes with his attacker, to see the positively demonic glare in his gaze. It scares him; then again, it would scare anybody and Jane knows some incredibly brave people.

He is not listed among them. Never for a second would he be considered a worthy addition to such a list.

Heavy breathing. The person is closer now, too close for comfort. That means the knife is dangerously close, even more so than when he last dared to have a look. If there was a god he could pray to, Jane would ask that his death is swift. However, he knows there's no such thing, deep down to his very core. And if, for any reason, he is mistaken, then no god would answer his pleas. He's had too many years of disbelieving for them to show any mercy on him.

All he can do, therefore, is hope.

"_Tiger, tiger, burning bright," _he hears. The voice is masculine, yet light. Possibly modulated by some enhancer too, but he cannot be sure. _"In the forest of the night…"_

There's no pain, not to his vulnerable neck, anyway. Instead, it's his lungs. They are being compressed; the saran wrap that had been roughly tied around him is tightening, constricting his chest. He can't breathe. Death by suffocation is a slow, painful way to go. If somebody really wants to kill you and make you suffer, it's the way they'll choose.

Still, he fights. His limbs ache, his heart races and he's already so tired. Slowly, but surely his mind is losing focus and that scares him. Jane's never known a time when he isn't committed to a moment, completely with it. Even when drinking, he ensures that he keeps his wits about him, just to make sure he doesn't miss out on anything vital.

It's all a natural part of his craft. They're skills he's needed to ensure his survival.

"Jane."

The voice is distant. But he realizes, as his eyes begin to flicker open, that he hasn't died. He merely lost consciousness, albeit briefly.

And his attacker is gone.

Apprehensively, he moves an arm. It's free. But he could have sworn that he'd been bound merely seconds ago. Then again, he could also have been easily been unconscious for hours and recently freed by his rescuer. Whoever that may be.

He thinks he knows.

She always comes to his rescue. Never has to ask, she's just there, whenever he needs her. Just like his dear, sweet Angela used to be. Only difference is, Teresa Lisbon does it out of a sense of duty, not out of love.

"Jane!"

Now, he's certain it's her. She's getting frustrated too, but there's nothing new there. Jane's always found Lisbon quick to anger, especially whenever he's involved. Still, he eventually risks a peek and is somewhat relieved to find himself in the bullpen. On the couch. That it had all been a dream, flashback, a nightmare. Whatever.

Lisbon's glaring at him, with arms folded and a look of impatience about her. There's also a flash of concern, albeit briefly, in her eyes. But that's become an almost permanent feature of late; it's something he chooses to ignore. He doesn't like the idea of people worrying about him. It means they care.

And if they care, it means they're in danger.

"Come on, sleepyhead. We have a case."

**TBC...**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** Thank you to xanderseye, LizFromItaly, cifre, Frogster and Miss Peg for reviewing part one.

For those interested, I'm offering holiday fics on my LiveJournal. My username over there is (somewhat creatively) tromana. So, please feel free to request a fic!

x tromana

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><p><strong>Part Two<strong>

He's seen more dead bodies than he cares to admit. None of them have much of an effect on him any more.

The first time he visited a crime scene, he'd ended up puking his guts up in the nearest trash can. Behind his back, the agents had laughed at him, had wondered if he would be able to cope with their line of work. Had suggested that he'd glorified it - and his skills - based on television shows. It isn't glamorous, it isn't pretty, regardless of how people tend to perceive it.

It had been a steep learning curve; one he'd been glad to do. Before his breakdown, before Angela and Charlotte's brutal murders, volunteering his services to the police had been his way of repaying his debt to society. Even somebody as scheming as he had been had a moral backbone, deep down, and there was only so much fleecing of innocent souls one could do without feeling _too _guilty.

Jane's even more grateful for that education now. After all, it's meant that he has access to the Red John case files. Means he can inch closer and closer towards that target of vengeance. And, when things aren't progressing as fast as he feels they should, it means he has a welcome distraction in the form of other cases.

The body is old; the poor soul died at least three years ago, according to the coroner. The house has been deserted for approximately the same amount of time. Obviously, the neighbors hadn't been intrigued enough to explore sooner, otherwise the body would have been found so much sooner. Still, the building is like a time capsule, of sorts. It means he can still 'work his magic' as Lisbon would phrase it and get an insight into the unlucky victim.

Somewhere, Kristina Frye is laying, decaying, waiting to be discovered. Just like this poor person. She should have known better, should have known not to fall into the same trap that he did. And yet, Jane had inspired her to do just that. She believed she had a greater understanding of Red John than he did and therefore, could take him on. Why? He still couldn't quite be sure of that.

He knew that part of it was promotion. In the time between their meetings her psychic business had certainly grown; her new townhouse was plush, modern, state of the art even. She had done well for herself. Then again, Jane understands the need for 'more, more, more.' It was exactly what he'd been like before the rude awakening. The interview on television was probably just a natural progression for Kristina.

But why mention Red John? Kristina seemed to genuinely believe she was a psychic; had she been trying to help the serial killer in her own blind sighted way in order to make recompense for what he'd done to his family? Had she really been fond enough of him to put her on life on the line? Or was it simply just to make herself look better, more omnipotent to the general public, in order to drum up business?

It's something he'll never know.

Because she's dead. Well, probably.

They just haven't found her body yet.

xxx

"What's wrong with you?"

"Me, what's wrong with _me_?" he snaps, incredulous that she even has to ask.

She drops her pen and stares at him seriously. Jane knows that he's been moping around her office lately, choosing to reside in there over the bullpen. There's less people to disturb him in here. Besides, there's only so many pitying looks he can take from Rigsby, Van Pelt and Cho, never mind the various other passing people, in one day. The added benefit is that Lisbon generally leaves him to it; she's used to his various moods and seems convinced that sooner or later, he will snap out of it. Poor naïve Lisbon. She may wear a mask of cynicism to protect herself from prying minds, but deep down, she's an eternal optimist, or at the very least, a realist. Probably has to be, considering her line of work.

"Yes, Jane," she answers, with an insufferable sigh. "What's got into you? You haven't been yourself since…"

She trails off and Jane sighs. By not answering her question, she knows his answer anyway. It's the same problem that it always is - Red John. He's like a constant shadow, just waiting to pounce at any time. Kristina was the unlucky one last time, but how could it be certain it wouldn't be Lisbon next? Or one of the other members of the team? And that's why he needs to stay focused on his task, distant from the rest of them. Because the moment that Red John gets wind that he's too close to any of them, that's it. He might as well be painting a target on their back.

Though naturally, being cops, they would all simply claim that it was there anyway.

"Talking is good. If you want..."

He's relieved that she doesn't suggest seeing a shrink. Whenever somebody on the team is showing signs of distress, that's usually her first thought. However, she understands his problems with psychiatrists. Has seen them first hand. Even his relationship with Sophie Miller wasn't something that could exactly be classified as normal. Despite the fact he grew somewhat fond of his old doctor, he has absolutely no intention of seeing her again. His debt is paid, therefore that whole chapter of his life can be brushed under the proverbial carpet. There isn't a chance he'll ever trust another shrink; he'd rather manipulate his way out of that situation than trust them to try and actually help him.

"You wouldn't understand."

"Of course you'd think that," she mutters as he sweeps out of the room. "God forbid anyone try and help you."

xxx

He drives straight to Kristina's house.

There has got to be something that they missed, the first time around. Something that gives them even the faintest hint of where she has ended up, where Red John has taken her, who took her on his behalf.

It's only been a month since he was here last, but already there's signs of negligence. A couple of spiders have diligently woven their webs in the corners of the room, as traps for their prey. Then there's a fine layer of dust has slowly but surely built up on the previously pristine work surfaces. Kristina would have been horrified if she realized her home - and work space - had fallen into such a state. Both her previous home and this, her newer one, had shown that she was house-proud, that she liked to maintain a certain image. He understands; he was in the business for long enough to know what punters want from their psychics. A messy home indicates a messy mind and therefore, an inability to help.

He walks through to the lounge. The last words he'd shared with her was an argument, much like it had been with his wife. If he had taken his wife's advice, then he would never have ended up with this bloodthirsty quest. Then, he would never have invested so much time with the CBI, never met Kristina and she would never have fallen into Red John's clutches.

It was his fault. Again.

Equally, Kristina _could_ have learned from his mistakes though. However, he cannot see things that way. He's too wrapped up with self-loathing and arrogance to ever pin the blame on anyone but himself. They're habits of a lifetime, instilled into him by his father and something he simply cannot shake off.

Jane runs a finger lightly over the coffee table, leaving a trail in the dust. Everything is how it was the last time he was here; he hadn't missed anything, but he had to be sure. Eventually, he stands to leave. There's no point in him interfering with her effects and it's a waste of time for him to do any cleaning on her behalf. She won't care, even if for some miraculous reason Red John has spared her life.

"You do know that breaking and entering is a felony?"

He jumps, turns and sees Lisbon leaning against the door frame.

"How did you know I'd be here?"

Lisbon shrugs and suddenly, he realizes just how annoying it is for her when he never gives her a straight answer. Then again, it isn't exactly a brilliant deduction. Much to her annoyance, he has spent every spare opportunity in her office, reading the case files. She probably the person who knows best that Kristina and Red John are constantly lingering in his thoughts. However, she probably doesn't know just how much she haunts his thoughts either, or more specifically, Red John killing her to spite _him_.

Still. Maybe he should find somewhere more private to mull over things?

"I have the keys."

"Which you took from the log, I imagine."

"Yes."

"Which is also a crime."

"So arrest me then."

Lisbon rolls her eyes. It's what she does whenever she wants to be sarcastic but knows that she should probably bite her tongue instead. He never expected her to follow through with his suggestion, she's more than willing to turn a blind eye to it. After all, he has done much worse in order to close cases and they both know it. In fact, Jane sometimes thinks that the only thing she is unlikely to turn a blind eye to is if he murders someone, specifically Red John. That's one thing she certainly cannot ignore.

"C'mon, it's getting late."

Eventually, he smiles and acquiesces. He knows that it takes her by surprise and deep down, he likes that more than he cares to admit.

**TBC...**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** Thought it about time I updated this fic. It's been a little while, as I've been concentrating on my Angst Big Bang still. That fic is nearly done now, I promise! Even though it won't be seeing the light of day until March next year. Oh _well_.

Anyway, thanks to: scarletblusssh, Ebony10 and xanderseye for reviewing part two. It's always very much appreciated, especially as things are pretty stressful for me again right now. I have two hospital appointments coming up soon. Ugh...

x tromana

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><p><strong>Part Three<strong>

He didn't expect to fall asleep in his little cubby hole. Then again, Jane never expects to fall asleep at all. The curse of the insomniac, he calls it.

Thankfully, for once, his sleep was dreamless. He had just dozed off, for long enough for the sun to set. That means that the headquarters is probably deserted now, or near enough. There will be one or two teams who are close to making a big break, so therefore working overtime. The others, however, will have all knocked off, to recharge their batteries before a long, hard day's work tomorrow.

As for the Serious Crimes Unit, well, they always seem to work to their own schedule. Van Pelt, still horrified by the fact she has been caught flouting bureau rules, is determined to make it up to Lisbon and Hightower. She works every hour under the sun, as her way of apologizing for not resisting Rigsby's charms. Then there's Lisbon herself, who appears not to have anything else to do with her life. However, Jane is fairly certain that's partially due to the fact she's secretive by nature, even if she is a horrendously bad liar.

Just as he decides it's about time to make a move, there's a knock at the door.

Briefly, he freezes. What if it isn't somebody he expects it to be? The CBI has been infiltrated by moles in the past; their security isn't foolproof. Just because it's been tightened since the murders of Bosco of his team, it doesn't mean that somebody else won't slip through the proverbial net.

He could be cornered, about to be whisked off in the dead of the night, just like Kristina was.

"Jane?"

Or, it could just be Lisbon. Which is far more predictable and mundane, and at least calms down his pounding heart a little.

Still, he doesn't answer. He doesn't want to talk to her right now.

"I know you're in there. Van Pelt saw you come up here."

He remains mute. Lisbon gets bored easily; she'll disappear soon and leave him in peace.

"Fine. See if I care," she eventually snaps through the closed door. "I'll see you tomorrow, I guess."

Oh but you do, he thinks. And that's half the problem.

xxx

He doesn't want to come into work today. It's not as if he has much of a choice in the matter; he's already here. Jane never intended to spend the entire night in the CBI headquarters, it just kind of happened. Nowadays, since meeting Red John, it seems to be becoming a more and more regular occurrence.

Theoretically, Jane knows he can pretend to be sick, but Lisbon would never believe it. She knows he doesn't get ill and therefore, that he'd be lying through his teeth. Reluctantly, he eventually plods downstairs, grimacing with each step. Some days, he just wishes he could bury his head in the sand and pretend that nothing is happening. That he can just escape from the drudgery of real life and find out what it's like to actually _live_ once more.

Besides, if he hides himself away, he knows that Lisbon will worry. Yes, she'll accuse of him of throwing a hissy fit, but that would never hide the obvious concern in her eyes. And today, of all days, he just cannot face her pity. As far as Jane's concerned, there's nothing worse than having her, of all people, feeling sorry for him. He's done nothing to deserve it. On the contrary, if anything, everyone around him should really be running for the hills instead of attempting to get closer.

She almost bumps into him in the hallway and she apologizes with a wry smile. He doesn't know who she's talking to, but judging the tone in her voice, he suspects it's the deputy AG. They have a case. Then again, they never stop. If people really understood the heartache and tragedy behind killing one another then maybe, just maybe, they'd actually stop.

It's not long until they're at the crime scene. These things always have a quick turnaround once they start and besides, this one happened relatively close to the CBI headquarters. Not that it would have made too much of a difference to him, personally, had it been further away. Right now, he just doesn't care.

Mostly because he's just going through the motions.

Lisbon's first to the body and she beckons him forward silently. Automatically, he responds to her silent request.

He can't help it, it's like she's pulling him forward.

Maybe he _does_ want to be here a little more than he thinks he does? If only to be near her, but not being lectured _by_ her, for just a little while.

The body is less interesting than he expects it to be. The murder weapon - a knife to the abdomen - has been left in place. It's immediately obvious that the handle is littered in fingerprints, suggesting a shoddy job. However, he can tell from even a distance that that's not necessarily the case. Their victim, a Samantha Walker according to Van Pelt, is positioned oddly. The perpetrator quite obviously moved her after she died. There's bruises along her arms and wrists, something which the coroner points and Lisbon nods as she listens attentively.

He doesn't listen to what the coroner has to say; he's assessed the woman's injuries from a quick ten second glance. Instead, he wanders around her lounge, well aware of Lisbon briefly breaking her gaze with the coroner to observe him, and takes in all the other details. Samantha wasn't killed here. There's no sign of a struggle, no blood spatter, no clues accidentally left by the murderer for them to assess. No, she was murdered elsewhere and then returned home. Why?

Jane doesn't say this, though. It's just a hunch, he needs to be sure. Besides, he thinks, he hopes, that Lisbon has caught onto the fact too. She's been in the job for more than long enough to realize that sometimes, just sometimes, a crime scene isn't necessarily as simplistic as it seems.

When their work is done, he's relieved. He hates knife crime even more so than gun crime. Not that guns aren't horrific weapons that make him flinch each and every time he hears one. No, the problem with knives is that each and every time he sees one, it reminds him of the way that Red John's blade must have plunged into Angela's stomach before delivering the fatal blow.

And that's an image that once thought of, is pretty hard to shake.

xxx

Jane tosses and turns on the couch. They're all annoyed at him because he won't sit through the briefing. What's the point? He was there anyway, he's seen everything that has happened and can remember every little detail of the case. For now, it has been tucked neatly away in his memory palace, ready to be accessed whenever he needs it. Unlike the rest of them, he doesn't need the constant reminders of who they've interviewed, where they stand with certain pieces of evidence or what they have got to do next. It's already in his mind and there it will stay until the case is closed.

Instead of working, he's allowing the same old thoughts to invade his mind. Then again, his wife and child never stray that far from him. He sees his daughters face in so many young girls, his wife's in the loving gaze of one partner to another. His own in the eyes of a grieving widower. Jane doesn't need to go very far to be reminded of what he's lost, or what could have been, if things had been different.

Sometimes, he thinks he might as well have taken the knife to Angela and Charlotte himself. After all, if it hadn't been for him and the need to feed his ego on television, they would still be here today. He wouldn't _need_ to search out for reminders of them in every woman and child because they'd still be with him.

Therefore, he might as well claim he is responsible for Kristina's kidnapping and whatever subsequent torture she has been subjected to. After all, she would never have bothered coming back to consult on the Red John case had he not been there. It would have been foolish to deny the fact she was intrigued by him as he was her.

Besides, he's still yet to achieve his quest to capture and kill Red John. Jane takes every victim since his family as a personal insult, as if the serial killer is taunting him. Kristina's disappearance is just additionally personal because it means that Red John knows what he's doing and who he's connecting with.

He had a prime opportunity to complete his self-imposed task and failed spectacularly. Red John had been right in front of him, in touching distance even and all he had been able to do was sit there, in a stunned silence.

Instead of the face off, resulting in one or both of their deaths, Red John had saved him from those psychopathic kids. If it hadn't been for him stepping up to the plate, Jane wouldn't be lying in the bullpen right now, listening to the team bickering about a case point. He wouldn't still be living, breathing, considering the ramifications of being saved by the one you intend to kill.

Instead, he'd be dead and buried. Reunited with his wife and child. Sometimes, that thought seems all the more pleasant than it should. After all, there's no such thing as an afterlife. Once it's over, it's over. Even Patrick Jane, with all of his emotional baggage, isn't ready to die just yet. He's not ready for the physical pain when it happens.

Therefore, he's grateful, relieved even, that it has been put off for another day. And that means he _is_ indebted to Red John.

And Jane is a firm believer in the fact that a debt must always be repaid.

**TBC…**


End file.
